Challenger's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 2)

by David Feintuch

“Get a few hours rest before you report back to the bridge, Philip. In the wardroom, or take any cabin you’d like.”

  He looked at me curiously. “I’ll be in the wardroom, sir. Where else would I sleep?”

  11

  WEARY, DISCOURAGED, I RETURNED to the bridge and sealed the hatch behind me. I knew better than to waste time looking for the missing weapons. On a ship the size of Challenger they could be anywhere. The crewmen I’d surprised rifling our stores had been wearing pressure suits; I hadn’t gotten a look at the faces of the two who escaped.

  Still, I could narrow my suspicions. We’d started with fourteen crewmen and the Chief Engineer, whose name I still hadn’t learned. I doubted the Chief was involved; he appeared too lethargic to care. One man lay dead in the hold. Comm Specialist Tzee was busy reassembling the laser controls; Mr. Akkrit and Mr. Jabour were counting passengers and hadn’t had time to join the raiders. Mr. Andros was in the brig. That left nine suspects. Two of them had gone to the hold.

  I could haul the lot of them in for poly and drug tests; under the irresistible influence of the drugs the miscreants couldn’t conceal their crime. But without other evidence against them, that was strictly forbidden. Anyway, we had no doctor to administer P & D.

  “Bridge, comm room reporting.”

  “What is it, Mr., ah, Tzee?”

  “I think I’ve got the lasers hooked up, sir. Could you release a test target?”

  “Couldn’t you program simulated fire?”

  “Not if we want to make sure the laser cannon actually work, sir.”

  “Good point. When Mr. Tyre reports back I’ll have him jettison some abandoned belongings. That’ll do for practice.”

  As I replaced the caller I had the grisly thought of using the dead sailor’s body as a target, but suppressed it. My relations with the crew were bad enough, no matter how much I despised a man who’d take food from the mouths of his mates.

  I made a note on my console screen to have Philip remove the body and release some flotsam for the lasers. Next, we had to arrange a food system so the galley could be supplied with enough provender to make our meals.

  The comm room had to be manned; that meant training ratings to handle the laser firing controls Mr. Tzee had reconnected. We were supposed to maintain a twenty-four-hour watch over the recyclers; how could that be done with only thirteen crewmen in all?

  The screen filled with my notes. Starting new plants in the hydroponics chamber was absolutely essential. The Chief—I keyed through the Log to find his name—Andreas Kasavopolous, had to be brought back to his duty. The bridge had to be manned. Even if Philip and I stood twelve-hour watches, an impossibility for more than a few days, Challenger didn’t have enough officers. The hydro chambers would need extra hands too, to nurture the new plantings. The passengers had to be looked after ...

  My head fell back. “More help,” I whispered.

  “What, sir?” Kerren.

  “We need more help.”

  “I’ve run calculations regarding your problem,” the puter said smoothly. “Challenger has a crew of seventeen. If—”

  “Sixteen. I shot one.”

  Kerren was shocked into a half second’s silence. “Very well, recalculated. If each crew member works an eighteen-hour shift every day, you’ll have just sufficient—”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Mathematically, there’s no other way. Even so, you’ll be shorthanded for some less critical functions. You—”

  “Enough, Kerren.” He fell silent. I leaned back, my head spinning, took a deep breath. I had to get more help. I stood wearily. “Kerren, watch for encroachments. Monitor the recyclers and ship’s power. Page me immediately upon any variation from norms.”

  “Certainly, sir. I’ll be pleased to do that. You’re leaving?” A second’s hesitation. “The bridge is to be manned at all times while under weigh, Captain. Article 17 of the Naval Regs, edition of—”

  “You man it. I’m busy.”

  “A ship’s puter is not considered an officer for any purpose to which—”

  I sealed the hatch behind me. On Level 2 sullen deckhands swept the corridor under the supervision of Mr. Akkrit. They came to attention readily enough; I released them and turned to their leader. “Have you a list of passengers and their cabins?”

  “Yes, sir.” Akkrit handed me a crinkled paper from his pocket. I scanned it. The cabin I wanted was halfway around the circumference corridor. As I turned away, I thought of the rifle I’d left by my console on the bridge. I shrugged. I doubted the panicked crewmen from the hold were prepared just yet to assault their Captain with their stolen weapons.

  I knocked on the hatch.

  “Who is it?” Walter Dakko peered into the corridor. “Oh, Captain. Come in.” His clothing and belongings were scattered on the bunk, as if he’d been sorting his gear. He closed the hatch behind us, waited for me to speak.

  I forced my mind to concentrate. “Mr. Dakko, I have thirteen crewmen belowdecks, not all of whom are reliable. One of my two officers drinks on duty.”

  He sat slowly on his bunk. “And?”

  “I can’t run the ship with the people I have,” I said. “I need—”

  The hatch burst open. “Dad, Greg and I found—”

  “—recruits.”

  Chris Dakko demanded, “What are you doing here, Seafort?”

  “Chris!” His father was scandalized.

  “Well, it’s our cabin!”

  Walter Dakko said mildly; “It’s my cabin. Yours is down the hall.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  The elder Dakko’s temper flared. “Go to your quarters until you know!”

  Father and son glared at each other, my presence forgotten.

  Slowly Chris shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not this time. You can’t do that anymore.” He walked out.

  Walter Dakko released his breath in a sigh of exasperation. “You see the problem.” His tone was rueful. He focused on me. “You were saying?”

  “I need help.”

  He sat on his bunk. “Now you say you need help. Before, you said you needed recruits. Which do you mean?”

  I was puzzled. “It’s the same.”

  “No. Assign your thirteen crew to critical tasks. Working in the engine room or with the machinery. Let civilian volunteers tend the plants or help with cooking and cleaning.”

  I shook my head. “It wouldn’t work. The recyclers have to be watched; any problem there could kill us. The regs require the comm room and the bridge to be manned. The—”

  “The regs require?” His tone was incredulous. “What do regulations matter in a situation like ours?”

  “In a Naval vessel,” I said slowly, “Naval regulations apply at all times.”

  “We’re a derelict ship abandoned to the doubtful mercy of Lord God!” He hurled a jacket to the deck, thought better of it, stooped to retrieve it. He brushed it clean and laid it gently upon the bed. “If we cooperate and work together we might have a chance. Damn your Naval regs! We just have to try to survive.”

  “We need the regulations for survival,” I said simply. How to make him understand? “Officers in the Naval Service are trained to duty. They are educated in honor, taught the value of their oath and the meaning of dedication. Several of my officers on Portia volunteered for duty on Challenger, knowing the risk.

  “But the crewmen—you probably know what they’re like. To keep the ships manned, the Government offers a half-year’s pay in advance as a bonus, and takes anybody. It’s called guaranteed enlistment. Most of those men have no loyalty or dedication to the Service. They’re kept in line by regulations enforced with stiff penalties. One reason the Captain is made absolute dictator is to restrain any impulse to rebellion in the crew.”

  Unconsciously I began to pace. “Rigid lines of authority are set and maintained by the regulations. As you know, it’s a capital offense for crewmen to touch their Captain.” I stopped, to face him. “If the
crew sees regulations set aside, ship’s discipline will go as well. And it’s already broken down. I had to brig one man to set an example, and I shot a deckhand who assaulted me when I caught him looting food stores.”

  “I heard.”

  “We’re not far from a complete breakdown of authority. I can’t allow that. ‘Every man for himself’ would bring starvation or worse.” Grim images flashed through my mind. “In any event, I have no choice. My course is dictated by my oath.”

  “What course? What oath?”

  “I swore to uphold Naval Regulations. Section 204.1. ‘The Captain of a vessel shall assume and exert authority and control of the Government of the vessel until relieved by order of superior authority or until his death.’ ”

  Dakko’s face grew red. “You need our cooperation, Captain Seafort. You won’t get it by spouting your precious regulations. They don’t contemplate a situation such as ours.”

  I shrugged. “What does that matter?”

  “Look beyond your petty rules!” he shouted. “If we’re going to die on this accursed ship, what do your regs signify? How does your oath matter?”

  I looked at him curiously. “How would the prospect of death abate my oath?” I shook my head in despair. “I already deliberately skirted my oath once. Worse, I refused a direct command from my Admiral, and I doubt very much it was an illegal order. I have no excuse. I’ll not do it again.” I reached for the hatch handle. “I came to ask your help.” I opened the hatch.

  “What did you want from me?”

  “To volunteer for enlistment. And to speak to Gregor and Chris about doing the same. But obviously it would be better if I spoke with them myself.” I left.

  On the way to Gregor Attani’s cabin I cursed my impatience. I’d alienated Dakko, when I needed him the most. I steeled myself to be calm and reasonable as I knocked on the hatch.

  “What do you want?” Gregor’s face bore no sign of welcome.

  “May I come in?”

  “I suppose.” He stepped aside. I stopped short. Chris Dakko sat on the bunk, glowering.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s just as well you’re together; I was going to talk with each of you.” Quickly I explained the ship’s predicament. “So I’m here on a recruiting mission.”

  A moment’s silence. “You want us to sign up for the Navy?” Chris Dakko seemed astonished.

  “Yes. You’re educated and intelligent, and I need you.”

  “As officers or enlisted men?” Gregor.

  A good question, one I hadn’t considered. “Enlisted men, preferably. But I’d enlist you as an officer, in your case, if that’s what you wanted.”

  “Meaning what?” demanded Chris from the bed.

  I hesitated, chose honesty. “I won’t have you as an officer,” I told him. “You don’t have the temperament.” With contempt, Chris tossed a pillow at the bulkhead.

  Greg Attani shrugged. “I’m not interested.” He colored. “I mean, thanks for the offer, Captain. Sorry about my manners. But you must know we transferred here to get away from you. Nothing could make me join your crew.”

  Chris stood lazily. “Me neither. Go ask your trannie friends. They’ll be a big help, I’m sure.” He laughed. “Come on, Greg, let’s check out the lounge.”

  I nodded shortly. “Very well. Thank you for hearing me out.” I left, holding the shreds of my temper in check as I stalked toward the ladder. My eyes on the deck, I nearly collided with Eddie Boss.

  He barred my path. “You!” A thick finger poked at my chest “You no better n’ dem Uppies! Givin’ us cabins by ourselves, yah! Gettin’ us off ship goin’ places, leavin’ us here!”

  “Eddie, I—”

  “Where we goin’ now, Uppie Cap’n? Takin’ us home? Backa N’York?” Rage suffused his heavy features. “You let ‘em leave us behin’ so we gon’ die here!” His beefy hand closed around my arm. With a savage twist he flung me against the bulkhead. “Teachin’ me read, sure! Alla game fo’ you! You let ‘em leave us trannies on dead ship, no food, no nuttin’!”

  My ribs throbbed. With an effort I met his eye. “I’m on Challenger too, Eddie.”

  He wasn’t listening. “Crew joey beat up Deke real good. I foun’ him lyin’ in hall like he dead, teeth all broke! We ain’ takin’ no more! Prong yo’ ship and prong you!” His fist reared.

  With my free hand I jabbed him in the chest. “Coward! Mira bigman Eddie Boss, jus’ chickenshit coward! Allatime big talkin’, thassall! No helpin’, jus’ talkin’!”

  He let go my arm, regarded me with suspicion. “Whatcha wan’, Cap’n?” He sounded calmer. “Why ya talk trannie? Ya ain’ no trannie. Talk Cap’n talk, I listen.”

  I swallowed with relief. “Eddie, Challenger’s in desperate trouble. We’re short of food, we can’t Fuse, I haven’t enough crew. I’ve talked to some passengers about enlisting. I don’t know what they’ll do. In the meantime, help me with the tranni—with your friends. Give them whatever cabins they want. Keep them away from the crew; the men are short-tempered. I’m sorry about Deke. I’m sorry you’re in this mess.”

  Stubbornly he shook his head. “I gonn kill dat one joe, I fin’ him. Deke my frien’. No one hurtin’ my frien’.”

  I said, “Don’t take revenge yet, Eddie. I need every sailor we’ve got. Please, as a favor to me.”

  “Yah, I wait, you callin’ me coward,” he sneered. “Ol’ Eddie jus’ chickenshit!”

  I deserved that. “I apologize,” I said evenly. “You were ready to knock my head off. I wanted you to hear me.”

  He studied my face. “Okay. You got ‘nuf trouble widout Eddie. But I ain’ no chickenshit; don’ go callin’ me dat!”

  “Right.” I put out my hand.

  He shook his head. “Naw. I ain’ no frien’ wid you. You da Man. Ya din’ keep Boss Cap’n from puttin’ trannies on dis dead ol’ ship. Keep ya frazzin’ hand.” He stalked away.

  Moments later I was at my bridge console, pondering the failure of my mission. As I waited for Philip to return from settling into the wardroom, I realized I had no idea what my own cabin looked like. My duffel lay in the corner where I’d first dropped it. Wearily I picked it up, left the bridge once more.

  I followed the corridor around the bend. Passing the first lieutenant’s cabin, I tried not to recall my folly with Philip and the barrel. Two cabins farther, I found the hatch I expected, with the Captain’s insignia. The cabin was bare, clean, impersonal, larger than Portia’s, larger even than Hibernia’s.

  Captain Hasselbrad had transferred all his gear. I stowed my clothing, set my picture of Amanda next to my bunk.

  The cabin was furnished with a conference table, several straight chairs, and an easy chair. Nothing else. I sat. I hadn’t slept for two days. I would rest my eyes a moment.

  I jerked awake in confusion before remembering where I was. I glanced at my watch. With a curse I jumped to my feet; hours had passed. It was almost noon. In the head I ran cold water on my face, searched fruitlessly for a towel. Wiping my eyes on my sleeve I hurried into the corridor.

  Outside the bridge Philip Tyre waited anxiously. He saluted.

  “Sorry. How long have you been waiting?”

  “An hour or so, sir. I didn’t want to knock.” By custom the Captain was not bothered in his cabin except in an emergency, and then only by ship’s caller. Philip had assumed I was unavailable because I wanted to be so.

  “Knock any time you want to, Middy.” My voice was gruff. “Or call. We’re the only officers, you and I.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” I doubted he would. Ship’s custom has an inertia too great for a mere midshipman to deflect. He followed me onto the bridge. “The galley detail reported to me, sir, since they couldn’t find you. They’ll have dinner at seven, using whatever they scrounge from the larders.”

  “Very well.” I glanced at my notes on the console screen.

  I had to deal with the Chief. And the comm room. And the hydros. What first? I thumbed the caller. “Mr
. Drucker, call the bridge.”

  The return call came not from hydros but from crew berth one. “Seaman Drucker reporting, sir.” He sounded groggy.

  “How long have you been off duty?” I asked.

  “Uh, three, no, four hours, sir. Mr. Tyre told me to stand the night watch and then go off for sleep.”

  I was furious. While I had sat in a funk Philip had done my duties for me. “Very well. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep and report to the bridge at four bells.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Philip, see if Mr. Tzee is in the crew berth sleeping; I don’t want to wake him if he’s been on watch all night.”

  “He’s still in the comm room, sir.” Philip squirmed with discomfort. “I ordered him to stand double watch. I wasn’t sure you’d want to risk leaving the radionics untended.”

  “Taking a lot on yourself, aren’t you?” I knew how ungracious that sounded. I paged the comm room. “Mr. Tzee.”

  There was a pause before his response. I wondered if he’d been asleep. “Seaman Tzee reporting.”

  “Go get some sleep. Seal the comm room behind you.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Thank you.” He broke off.

  The silent bridge seemed oppressive, reproachful. I sighed. “Thanks for taking care of things, Philip. I’m angry at myself and I took it out on you.”

  “Thanks, sir.” He went on with a rush. “You need sleep too; sir. Nobody can expect you to be alert twenty-four hours a day.” He studied the bulkhead, perhaps wondering if he’d gone too far.

  He had. Such a remark from a midshipman to the Captain was scandalous. Except under the circumstances.

  “I know.” I was anxious to change the subject. “Go to the dining hall and see that Mr. Bree has what he’ll need for tomorrow’s meals. Organize someone to look after the passengers. Report back when you’re done.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” With a resilient step and a snappy salute he left. I wasn’t all that much older than Philip; he was eighteen and I was but twenty-one, but I looked on his boyish energy with all the sour acknowledgment of an old man.

  I sat at my console, trying to devise a duty schedule that would allow us to carry out minimal ship’s functions. I knew I was wasting my time. It was impossible with a skeleton crew and only one functioning officer.